Free Rage of the Dragon by Margaret Weis Page B

bewilderment.
    “Why is she mad at me?” Skylan asked.
    “Because you have cow turds for brains,” said Wulfe. “And you never listen.”
    “I’m listening now,” said Skylan with a sigh. “What do your fish friends have to say?”
    “That it’s too late.”
    The boy went back to pouting down at the creamy froth of the waves. Skylan cast a hopeful glance at Aylaen, but she was very pointedly not interested in him. She stood tall, her back rigid, her jaw set.
    Skylan walked over to Acronis. “Did you hear what I said? Why is she angry? It was a compliment!”
    “Ah, son,” said Acronis with a shake of his head. “You may be a mighty warrior, but you are a mewling babe when it comes to love. The man whose spirit you freed in the Temple. His name was Garn, I think. Aylaen loved him and he died in battle. And now she is learning to love you and now you talk about dying. She is not angry. She is afraid.”
    Skylan could have kicked himself. “I never thought about it that way. Why is it that every word I say to her comes out wrong?”
    “Because those words come from your heart, not your head,” said Acronis. He kindly changed the subject. “We’re definitely gaining on Raegar.”
    Skylan could see that for himself. The gap between the two ships was rapidly closing. He was glad to be able to turn his thoughts from love to such uncomplicated subjects as war and death.
    “Raegar’s dragon is growing tired. She has traveled a far distance, all the way from Sinaria.”
    Acronis regarded Skylan with interest. “How is that possible? Will our dragon tire?”
    “Dragons are strong, but they lack stamina and endurance,” Skylan explained. “They can fly only short distances before they must stop to rest, which is why they sail the seas with us in search of the gemstones that are Ilyrion’s blood. Kahg is rested.”
    Sounds of beating drums echoed over the water.
    “That’s interesting,” said Acronis. “Raegar is ordering the rowers to take their positions. See, they are fitting the oars into the oarlocks.”
    The rowers thrust their oars in the water. The drummer pounded, beating out the time. The oars moved rhythmically, blades flashing in the sunlight, water sparkling and splashing as the oars plunged into the waves. The rowers aboard the war galley were not slaves. They were men of the city, proud of their job and skilled at their work. The rowers propelled the galley through the water, though the pace was slower than when the Dragon Fala had been sailing the ship.
    Sigurd was now starting to pull away. The Dragon Kahg kept the Venjekar on course, aiming at Raegar’s ship. Behind them, the ogre ship was trying gamely to overtake the Venjekar . They could not hope to keep up with the speed of the dragon through the water. The ogre godlord and the shaman stood at the prow of their ship that was falling behind, but still in the chase.
    “Raegar has removed something from the dragon’s carved neck,” Acronis reported, staring intently through the spyglass. “I can’t make out what—”
    “His dragon’s spiritbone,” Skylan guessed, glancing at the spiritbone of the Dragon Kahg that again hung on a leather thong suspended from the carved dragonhead. “Of course, that’s why he’s using the rowers. He’s going to summon his dragon.”
    Aylaen had reached the same conclusion, apparently, for she left her position near the dragon’s head to hurry over to talk to them.
    “Aylaen, I’m sorry,” Skylan said as she drew near. “I wasn’t thinking.”
    “That’s because you have turds for brains,” she told him. She turned to Acronis. “Raegar has his spiritbone. I need to know what he is doing.”
    “He’s lighting an oil lamp,” said Acronis, sounding amazed. “Broad daylight and he’s lighting a lamp…”
    Aylaen hesitated, then she reached out.
    “Let me have the magic glass,” she said. “I need to see for myself.”
    Acronis handed over the spyglass. Aylaen put it to her eye,